Her
by FloodFeSTeR
Summary: He's insane, she'll do anything to please him. Their union is not for the faint of heart. - - Joker/OC - -
1. Crumble

_Really a collection of connected drabbles but most of them are in no particular order._

* * *

She knew him, even without the makeup.

The scars were enough through the smear of rain. Her eyes blinked against the onslaught and her heels clicked sharply against the concrete as she tried to reach him before he disappeared again.

Like he did every fucking time.

"Joker?"

He didn't look up, he continued to stare at the foot of the steps to her building. She stopped beside him and then moved in front of him. She set her briefcase on the soaked ground, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them in her coat pocket. She reached up and took his face in her hands, careful for the scars, and she shook his jaw a little.

"Joker," she whispered. "Come on, come back to me baby…"

His eyes were blank, lifeless, and she hated when it happened.

Her lips pursed and she reached down, grabbing up the briefcase and she looped her right arm around his back, nudging him forward. His steps curled over themselves, clumsily pulling him through the automatic doors. She did most of the work, helping him into the elevator. She pressed six and watched the doors close before she turned back to him. Rain was dripping from his nose and his coat, so she pulled what she could off and draped it over her arm, fingers still curled around the briefcase handle.

The doors opened and she pulled him forward again, not even bothered by his stumbling steps anymore. Her door was unlocked – not unusual because of her mindset – and she kicked the door shut behind them. She watched him slump into a varnished chair that went to her small dining room table in the center of her small kitchen. Her lips pursed as she hung her coat, shaking the water from her hair. She turned her back on him, walking into her bedroom to change. As she slipped off her panty-hoes, she heard a creak and stood straight, poking her head out of her bedroom door.

He was still sitting there.

She took in a deep breath and turned back into her room, reaching back to unzip her skirt. It fluttered to her ankles and she stepped out of it silently, shrugging off her white button up. She pulled her night shorts and tank top from the end of her messy bed and pulled them on, yawning into her hand.

As her eyes squinted, she was slammed against her dresser. Pain shot up her spine from where the small of her back connected with the sharp edge of her dresser and she felt a knife against her throat. His eyes were flickering over her face and she was shaking, eyes wide in fear. His eyes settled on her lips and he pulled his thumb up, rubbing the tip of it against them harshly.

They would bruise.

"See," he breathed against her. "There's the _fear_," he spat out the last word, running the tip of his blade across the hollow in her throat, down her cleavage. "But what's this," his knee dug into the V between her legs and she trembled. "Oh no no," he waved a finger at her, the blade drawing blood from where it was pressed against the thin skin. "Naughty naughty girl."

She let out a shaky breath as he kicked her knees apart, fitting himself far too firmly between her legs. Her eyes trembled against his face and her knuckles turned white with their grip on the edge of the dresser. She was still in pain, but she couldn't help but be turned on.

"Please," her voice was small and trembling.

He cackles, forcing his face into her throat and he inhaled deeply. "I believe it is more fun to tease you," his lips ghosted against her ear, barely touching. "What shall we do through your panties?"

She cringed. "Don't say that word."

He cackles again, but it was low and sent vibrations against her throat. "Panties."

She growled. "I said don't."

"And what cha gonna do about iiiiit," he drug his tongue against her throat as he drew the word out.

She ground her teeth and pushed him back, finding some kind of relief from the sweltering heat between her legs and the pain in her lower back. "Prick," she muttered, stomping into the other room.

He followed her, slinging his body around lazily as he poked the tip of his knife into his finger. He watched her hips slither as she walked into the kitchen, meeting her golden eyes when she glared over her shoulder at him.

"Now, isn't that all you keep me around for?"

She grumbled and opened her refrigerator, pulling out a half empty bottle of wine and she grabbed a glass, filling it to the rim. She set the bottle on the false granite counter and began to nurse the glass like it was a bottle. When she was done, and there was just a drop left in the glass, she turned to him. Her face was placid but her cheeks were still flushed.

"Why were you waiting on my doorstep, Joker?"

That actually made him pause and he rocked his bottom jaw back and forth for a moment before he slinked around the kitchen counter, leaning across it towards her. She stared at him down the bridge of her nose, as if he were nothing.

"Ya see," he pointed at her and the finger bobbed for a moment. "That right there just drives me crazy."

"You're not crazy, Joker," she whispered.

He waved a hand and pushed off the counter. "Whatever," he muttered. "I came because, well," he hesitated, fingering a framed picture of a dog she had sitting on her coffee table.

She stared at him, placid. "Because why, Joker?"

He didn't say anything still.

And what was she expecting, some heartfelt plea for her love?

Some confession that he just simply wanted to _see _her?

No, that would never happen.

But she could do something, something she always did.

She swallowed thickly and walked around the bar, sighing as she took his right hand in hers. She threaded their fingers and he looked up at her, seeing the small, sensitive, smile she rarely gave.

"Come on," she tugged him towards her bedroom. "It's late, I'm tired."

He didn't protest, didn't say a damn thing. And she knew he wouldn't. Because, when she let him into her bed, when she let him against her side and she cooed to him, telling him it would all be alright, he didn't have to say anything. He just had to listen.

He just had to crumble.

Just a little bit…


	2. Hysteria

"Love me!"

His voice is demanding, frantic. She crumbled so easily.

"Love me!"

She would do anything for him.

"Love me!"

Even if it meant submitting under his twisted hands.

"Love me!"

She turned to him with impossibly wide, violently gold eyes and she smiled at him. He hated that smile. He was standing just behind her, hands clenched at his sides, shoulders hunched up to cover his neck. His makeup was smeared, cleansedby the sweat beaded across his forehead. She turns to him fully, reaching up and brushing back the always disheveled hair from his face. Her fingers are cold and he forces his head against her cold touch. She pushed up, pressing her lips against his. Hers are cracked and bruised, dried blood flaking against her teeth but he likes the taste. He revels in it.

Her eyes are closed and so are his as their foreheads press against each other's forcefully. "I will always love you," she whispered.

"Liar," his voice holds the promise of another rage.

She opens her eyes and takes his head firmly in her hands, eyes on fire just like the rest of her body. He doesn't realize, he doesn't seem to understand, that she has never lied to him. Of course, he had his reasons for doubt, and it was like pulling teeth trying to get him to understand. But even she didn't really seem to understand.

"I love you," she ground out through her teeth. "Don't you _ever _doubt that."

She felt his fingers curl tightly around her upper arms, gripping so tight it was sure to bruise. She whimpered and her knees buckled slightly, looking up at him in alarm. But there was nothing behind those eyes. Nothing but fear, suspicion and something else she couldn't quite comprehend yet. Her lips parted, reaching for his name, and then he pushed her roughly to the floor. Her back connected sharply with the floor and she screamed, no doubt alarming the others in the apartment building. But she didn't care about the pain, she cared about the fact that he was turning to the window.

"No," she gasped out.

He paused, fingers dancing across the sill. "What," it was a growl.

"No," she shook her head, lips trembling. "Please…don't leave me again."

He glared back at her, some sort of sick sympathy behind is irises. "Love me," he whispered.

She nodded fiercely, reaching for him. "Yes…yes…"

* * *

_**So, a thank you to the two that have reviews. Really warms my heart! Anyway, just a collection of twisted and perhaps sweet drabbles with maybe a few with solid connections. We'll see:)**_


	3. Tremble pt 1

_**Sorry it took so long. My computer is busted so I had to type this up on my phone and it's a lot of work.**_

* * *

She had never been afraid of the streets at night.

True, she wasn't really comfortable with it, but she didn't have a choice.

Tonight was normal.

Starry but distant thanks to the lights overhead. She kept her briefcase clenched in her hand, eyes darting this way and that. The briefcase had become a weapon on more than one occasion. She worked at a local lawfirm and had just won her first case. She was ecstatic, but cautious, and she had every right to be.

She hadn't been watching what she was doing, hadn't seen him step out in front of her, she was busy fondling her keys, trying to get her house key ready so there was no fumbling at her door.

When she hit him, he had no give. She stumbled back with a nearly audible scream, her briefcase hitting the ground while she caught her footing. She looked up through her curly bangs, the green in her eyes swallowed by her pupils.

"A young lady doesn't need to be walking alone at night," she couldn't see his face but she could see those teeth curled into a slick grin. "She could find trouble."

She swallowed back bile. "Like you."

"Oh, ehhehehehehe," his voice was high-pitched and he clapped. "You're a smart one," as he leaned forward at the waist, half of his face came into view and she saw the smeared white and red paint. "I like that."

She wasn't as terrified as she knew she should be, but she wasn't curious or intrigued. She was scared, oh so scared, but she couldn't do anything but stare at him. He didn't seem to mind, he just wanted to stare at her with such a curly smile.

But her lips moved and words spilled out, words she wanted to punch herself for. "Well...care to walk a lady home?"

His eyes sparkled and he held out a hand, not before making a show out of it by twirling it, but still. And she took it, much to his obvious delight and mirth. She grabbed her briefcase, shaky on her heels, and held his hand tightly. He wore rubbery gloves, making his palm seem slick and wet, but she knew he was dry.

The words put a bad taste in her mouth.

"Too trusting."

She should take his words to heart, but instead she squeezes his hand tightly.

"Guess I have a taste for danger," she muttered, more in a scolding way than anything else.

"Perhaps I can sate your appetite."

When did her back hit the brick beside her door?

She breathed in his smell, feeling like she was intoxicated.

"Don't think so," she tried.

"Hmm," he murmured, gripping her hand tightly and raising it above her head. "I do."

She shivered as his nose ran up her throat, into her hair. She should have taken a shower. Wait, she was letting some stranger she met in the middle of the street seduce her, and she was thinking of taking a shower for him?

"Stop," she whispered halfheartedly.

"I can hear your heart racing," his lips brushed her ear.

Oh boy wasn't it beating. It was drowning out ever other sound besides his words.

"I'm scared."

"Don't be," it was an order.

And she complied, but she couldn't just let this happen.

"Not here."

Not here? What was she thinking? Had she been drugged?

"Devious little bird," he murmured, letting her hand go.

When had her eyes closed? When she opened them, he was gone, and she was shivering. From fear? From the cold? No...no that didn't seem right. She looked down, uncurling her palm and she found a note. A note?

_Leave your window open..._

She wouldn't dare do that!

She curled her hand up again, chewing on her lip, and then she knew automatically what her choice was. She would let a stranger in her window.


	4. Wounds

_**You guys, seriously, thank you so much for the reviews.**_

* * *

He stared in horror.

She smiled, holding her stomach firmly. Blood seeped between her ashen fingers.

His eyes went wide from the seeping wound to the wide blade in his hand. His fingers shook around the hilt, the sharp edge reflecting his grief-stricken face.

He hadn't meant to do it.

He really hadn't.

Not to her.

Anyone else but her.

She reaches out to him, blood stained fingers trying to grasp some part of him. But he drops the blade, hopping a step back, head shaking back and forth fiercely in denial.

"Joker...baby...," her voice is hoarse, her cheeks pale. "It's ok..."

He takes another , head slowing.

No...no it wasn't ok.

It would never be _ok._

* * *

**_Ok guys, the chapter before this one will have a second and perhaps third part if the responses I get are good._**


	5. Idiot

**_A/N: Sorry it's been so long. Got caught by the Winter Soldier and he still hasn't let me go._**

_"Here in the gloom of my lonely room," _her lips danced closely to his ear, through tangled hair. _"We're dancing like we used to do."_

His fingers tightened in the fabric around her hips, the rubber of his gloves squeaking lightly, his eyes closed tight. Her lips formed a thin line and her fingers hesitated on his shoulders.

She wet her lips. _"Making believe is just another way of dreaming. So until my dreams come true..."_

"Vanessa," he murmured, digging a hand into the hair at the back of her head.

She frowned. "Can you just not?"

"Never," he nipped at her earlobe but she showed nothing but annoyance. "Not with that smell..."

She rolled her eyes. "It's cheap perfume," she hummed for a moment to her old vintage record player.

"It's delicious," he groaned.

And she huffed, playing with his hair. "Idiot..."

_**A/N: And to answer Tonari's question, yes, I will be making a full story of this in the future. I'm waiting to get my computer fixed to do so. The battery burnt out and I'm stuck on my phone for the moment - which is why these drabbles are sort of short even by drabble standards - and it's a very, very difficult and frustrating process.**_

_**The next drabble will be a continuation of the chapter where Joker asks her to leave her window open. ;)**_


	6. Tremble pt2

_**I am...not entirely please with how this came out. More of this moment to come.**_

* * *

She woke up with the sun in her eyes.

A groan slid past her lips and she rolled onto her side, fingers stretching through the sheets to find the warmth she was missing. Her eyes blinked fiercely and she lifted her head, curling her right leg up, revealing her bare skin to the fresh morning rays. She looked to the door of her room that was open, hearing the faint trickle of jazz music. She swallowed thickly, a slight slice of fear wedged into her spine. But she pulled the covers from her torso and slid out of bed, not concerned about modesty at this point, and tip-toed to her bedroom door.

She held onto the doorframe when she saw him standing beside her record played, the sunlight shining through the window of her living room. He, unlike her, had put on his clothes. That horrid purple suit was worn in the light and his slicked back hair was shining with something she hoped was gel.

"You're still here," she croaked, voice hoarse.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, the paint on his face smeared where her fingers had gripped at him the previous night. "My, my, my," he turned to her fully, his eyes raking over her greedily. "Still a lovely creature, even with that rat's nest in your hair."

Her cheeks flushed red and she reached back, feeling her hair in just the condition he said. "Son of a -," she hurried off to the bathroom, not missing his amused chuckle. "It'll take me forever to get my hair fixed," she whined, still not concerned that there was a complete stranger in her apartment.

A stranger she didn't notice creeping up behind her. She squeaked when she saw him, grinning at her with that strange makeup. She spun around and he pressed her against the counter, easily lifting her up to sit on the edge. She instinctively curled her arms around his neck, her heart pounding in her ears. His eyes seemed to swirl and her lips trembled. But he held her close, seemed to keep her grounded even though she wasn't standing.

"You're still here," she repeated.

"And you're still lovely."

Her cheeks heated and she swallowed, her tongue darting out of her lips and drawing his eyes. "Why?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you still here?"

"It is called chivalry, I know you may not be used to it with these hoodlums wandering around here…"

"Chivalry," she scoffed. "You cornered me on the streets and snuck in my window."

"But who slowed me to walk them home," he hummed against the shell of her ear. "Who left her window open?"

She shivered. "Stop it," she pushed him away again.

He stumbled back once but caught himself, leaving her feeling exposed but making her feel like she had at least _some _of her dignity back. "Feeling exposed?"

"Yes," she grumbled, her heart fluttering. "Come back."

He did as she obliged, her body curling around his so easily it scared her. The fabric of his suit felt strange against her skin but she didn't mind, she snuggled deep into his chest. Just as she had done last night and wanted to do for the rest of her life. She knew she shouldn't feel this way; he was a stranger, a mystery, possibly dangerous. If only she knew just how dangerous he was. But something about him stuck with her, made her instantly trust him.

"A clingy little bird, aren't you," he grunted.

She caught the tone and froze for a moment, pulling away slowly. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

He stared at her for a long time, eyes running over those delicious curves she usually hid so well behind frumpy clothing. Working in a law firm? She didn't fit the part, not with this body. She belonged in different settings, but her bedroom was the one that stuck out the most; her hair fanned around her head, calling his name.

"You apologize too much," he muttered.

She bit her tongue to keep from apologizing again. "Well um…"

"Trying to get rid of me, eh?"

She looked up at him from under her brow, fixating herself with the scars hidden by red paint. "Yes and no," she mumbled. "I have work…"

"But you want to skip work today…"

"Yes and no, again."

"Pick or choose, sweetheart," he placed both hands flat on either side of her hips. "Don't have all day."

She swallowed thickly. She should tell him to leave. She should tell him that it was all a mistake – letting him in, primping herself for his inevitable visit, the sex, the screaming that called a neighbor to their door and had him answer butt naked – all of it was a bad idea. But she couldn't help herself, all she could do was picture herself wrapped around him again, holding him as tightly as possible so he didn't run away. But the protests died on her tongue and she grinned at him, causing him to grin back.

"I want you to stay," she mumbled, feeling sheepish but bold.

He cocked his head to the right, his teeth showing through his lips. "You are just…absolutely perfect…"


	7. Hate

She doesn't hear him, doesn't feel him, but she knows he is there.

Her eyes flicker, but all she catches is darkness.

She whips to the right, hand darting out but her fingers catch air.

She opens her mouth to scream, but he is there. His long arms are wrapping around her torso, are pulling her in, tight, like he's trying to force her into his entire being. She screams into his gloves, desperation turning to tears on her cheeks and her breath is getting caught in her lungs. She wants to be free, wants to be out of his hold. But he continues to draw her in, his sickening chuckle in her ear.

She knows she is trapped.

She knows she will never be free.

But as she wakes up, breasts heaving, skin shining with fresh sweat and his heat next to her, she realizes her fault and begins to cry. Which catches his attention. Which makes him curious. Which makes her hate herself all over again.


	8. Ink

_**BrendaBites: Thank you so much for the reviews! And I hope I continue to do the Joker justice. **_

_**The story that will eventually come out of this will have these moments in it (slightly edited, as you will see) and it will also show the events leading up to some of these including the last chapter Hate. **_

_**This chapter is mostly fluffy and not long at all.**_

"Hold still."

She wasn't moving.

She bit into the pillow in her arms, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly the muscles in her temples jumped. The needle dug into her skin but she still didn't move. She could feel is slide out and slumped forward, breathing heavy.

He chuckled from behind her. "It didn't hurt that bad," he hummed.

She glared back at him. "I have a very low pain tolerance."

"Obviously," he grinned wickedly and jumped to his feet. "Gimme."

She stared at his hands as he clenched his fingers out towards her. Her hand easily fit in his and she gasped as he jerked her to her feet, steering her towards the bathroom.

"I believe it is some of my finest work."

Talent.

If that was one thing this bundle of psycho had was talent. And it was wasted.

On her left shoulder blade was carved a grinning mouth. It matched his perfectly and it actually looked rather real. The edges of the scarring wound was still bleeding but he had cleaned most of it up. She wondered where he got the ink set from but decided against asking. Instead she smiled at him in the reflection beside her.

"It's beautiful," she meant it.

His eyes met hers and she couldn't describe the feeling in her chest when she saw those pin point pupils sparkle.

She would do anything, say whatever she had to, just so long as he continued to smile at her like that.


	9. Fragile

**Thank you Brenda Bites for the lovely review. The last chapter seemed off to me but I was happy with the way it came out.**

* * *

"I hate this place."

"Well, I tried to talk you out of coming but oh no," she picked up a box of cheese crackers from the shelf and examined it for a moment. "And get your hand out of my pants before someone notices."

"Oh plenty of people have noticed it."

She tensed and looked around the aisle, seeing two older women scowling at him. Now doubt he grinned back at them, judging by the way they scuttled away while muttering angrily. His fingers tightened in the back of her jeans and she squeaked, giggling nervously. His hand wasn't in her back pocket, it was _in her pants_. And it felt so dirty but she couldn't find a way around his perversions.

"And if they report us to the security guard?"

Being escorted out of the grocery store because the Joker couldn't keep his hands out of her pants. In a way, it was flattering. In a way, it was terrifying. What if someone found out? She could see the headlines now: Local Woman Bedded by Joker. And then she could see her picture posted under it. She could already hear her phone ringing, her mother begging her to just let her help. Did she need any support? Money? Did she need to move in? Did she need mental help?

"Oh God," she pressed her face into the box. "My mother…"

He hummed against the back of her throat, probably grinning at the security camera. "What about her?"

She groaned and let her arms drop, box still clenched in her hands. "Just thinking about if my picture ends up in the headlines…"

"And?"

She slammed the box onto the shelf and turned to him, not even faltering as he pressed her back against the shelf. "She'll drive all the way up here, beg to know what was wrong with me, if something was wrong with my head…"

"Something is," he pressed his lips against hers, feeling his skin crawling; public places, ew. "Now, hurry with your shopping."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him back, smiling gently as she took his hand; she didn't miss the way he tensed. "I would like you to meet my mother at least once," she grabbed things as she passed, throwing them into the basket hanging between their hands. "You would scare the hell out of her."

"And that's a good thing?"

"My mom's an ass, she wanted me to end up with a lawyer or a doctor, like every mother hopes from their daughter."

He was silent for a long time and then pulled her to a stop. She looked up at him, confused by his sudden lapse in demeanor. Of course, he was always changing like this but never had he looked so solemn, so serious, so nearly-heartbroken.

"Would she…do you think she would accept me?"

Her eyes widened. "I-I'm sure she would," what was with him? "Look," she reached up and cupped his cheek, seeing some of that manic spark coming back into his eyes; there it was. "You don't need to worry about her, even I don't worry about her. My mother is a bitch, hopefully you won't have to meet her. If she did anything to upset you…"

She would kill her mother.

And she wouldn't regret it.

No one would hurt him, so long as she was around. No more. No more mental abuse, nothing would tarnish his fragile sense of being.

Nothing.


	10. Tear

_**I absolutely adore writing these drabbles. So simple and so quick. No dissapointing hiatus', no over complicated plot. And I am so happy you all enjoy this. I wonder how long I'm gonna take this before I publish the actual story.**_

* * *

"You regret it."

"Not really."

"Are you sure?"

Was she?

Hmm..."Yeah I'm sure."

He stared at her, eyebrow raised. And she had to say, she loved him without all that makeup. Or was it paint? Either way, she wanted to touch those scars. What was this insane curiosity of hers with those scars?

He waved a hand in front of her face and she blinked. "Huh?"

"You were staring at them again."

It was a statement. A rough one.

She blushed and looked down. "Sorry," she mumbled.

His eyes flickered over her face for a moment. "We were...headed out..."

She stared at him. "Yeah..."

"Not anymore?"

"No."

"You want to touch them."

Was he a mind reader?

"Yes," too late to deny now.

He seemed to hesitate and she didn't know why. What was he thinking? Whatever it was, it made her nervous. Or maybe him reaching out to her made her nervous, either way that was his hand touching her so gently.

She gasped as her fingertips brushed those scars, his fingers curled tight around hers. So soft, rough patches at the soft. So delicate.

It was enough to make her cry. A muttered, 'I'm sorry' and he shook his head, not pulling her to him like he should, just holding her hand so tightly it would bruise.


	11. Slipping

_**Sorry it's been so long guys. I've been real caught up in other stories. I'm really happy with this chapter though. Please review! Let me know whose still here!**_

_**BTW, if you're into Lord of the Rings and the Elven hotty Thranduil, there is a drabble set by my friend named HisMeleth titled Days Gone Bye and she is doing a marvelous job even with only 2 chapters. I mention this because she also has a chapter coming up in her drabble set that roughly shares the plot to this chapter.**_

* * *

She started hitting the bottle after he left her.

He didn't leave her, not intentionally. He was just...gone.

Whiskey tasted good, memory loss was the free prize at the bottom of the vodka bottles. When that wasn't enough, there was always contemplation at the edge of her apartment buildings roof. What confused her most was the jacket, his scent still clinging to the slick texture with all its might. It had been left to drap over the foot of her bed.

Inhaling meant her alcohol signature was pressed into the jacket, washing away the tide of old cologne and the sharp tang of that paint he used for his face.

Oh, how she missed the paint on his face...

* * *

It's early.

She doesn't need a clock - which is busted against the wall she had thrown it at a month ago - to tell her that. The shades drawn tight don't need to fight the sun, it isn't up yet. But she is. And the fierce pounding on the door is aggravating her hangover.

She flings her covers from her body, silk camisole tightening around her hips as she rolls onto her back. Bare feet pick through the sea of cracked CD cases, discarded clothes, a few stray cigarette packs and other miscellanious items she doesn't care for.

She flicks on the light to her kitchen, giving her front door a warm glow. The pounding hasn't stopped and she now sobers enough to be cautious. But her heart is racing and she is jerking the door open.

He's leaning against the door frame, free arm swaying down to his side. His left eye is bandaged, his cheek split and dried with blood. His lip is busted and his hideous undershirt is smeared with dirt and blood, left suspender snapped at the seam.

Ters break through and she lets out a sob, reaching for him as he falls into her. She helps him to the bed where he collapses, breath haggard and seemingly painful.

"You stink," he mumbles, a small trickly of blood coming from his lip.

She leans down, licks it away, brushes a hand through sweat-damp hair. "I love you," she whispers, kissing his neck, moving towards his shirt, fumbling for the buttons. "I love you, I love you, I love you..."


	12. Hold

_**Ugh so many feels from the Walking Dead mid-season finale.**_

* * *

_Hold my hand..._

* * *

She nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder, listening to his heart beating softly in the dark and lonely room. His lips parted, a strangled gasp coming from between his lips. He is in pain, even in his sleep.

* * *

_Ooh baby..._

* * *

It made her blood run over in hatred. A familiar face now tainted from the love of a mad man. His smiling face, his hand on her hip. To believe, he had once been her highschool sweetheart. Bruce...Batman. The name made her snort and she nuzzled closer to his side, breathing in the scent of latex.

He gasped again and she flinched, twisting to peer at his face through the faint light peeking through her curtains as the clouds parted for a breath.

He gasped again and she trembled, threading their fingers on the tops of the sheets, her cracked throat humming for a distraction.

* * *

_It's a long way down to the bottom of the river..._

* * *

**_This song is haunting me. If you like Walking Dead, I just posted a story with the prompt coming from this song and a one shot by sarjevo. Please read and review! Well, review this and that story!_**


	13. Fly

_**Remember, none of these are really related chronologically or otherwise. This was just some depressing shit I was thinking of. Just a warning.**_

* * *

He was never one to try and save a life, but this was _her _and he couldn't just turn away.

The balcony is circular, about 3 feet across, so he can't climb up there with her. But he can reach for her through the window. His fingers try to grasp any part of her - a foot, an ankle, a leg, anything to grasp to pull her back inside.

Her cackle rises over the noise of the city, arms wrapping around herself, hands gripping her shoulders. Be can't deny the way his heart flutters as she sways, feet dangerously close to tipping her over the edge of the ledge.

"Doll," he murmurs, trying to keep the air light.

She laughs and stumbles, swaying back, arms flailing. He dives for her but she catches herself. And he feels his gut twist like it hasn't in years.

"I'm scared," he confides.

She finally looks down at him, acknowledges him. And she smiles, reaches down to carress his right cheek. He reaches to catch her hand but she pulls away and twirls. And he watches her tip back, flutter off the edge like the little song bird she was. Only, she couldn't fly.


	14. Happy

_**Wow, its been awhile hasn't it? For all of you stuck with my extremely perverted thoughts tonight.**_

* * *

Is it really against-her-will if she's saying no but her hips are - hmm, he didn't know she was this flexible.

They are not a truly sexual set of people, though he tries his hardest some nights, he would honestly spend most of the time in her bed talking to her; he liked talking to her. She was no psychiatrist, but her voice was so nice, soft and sweet, when she told him he was perfect. He had his flaws, she was sure to let him know that, but she was always happy with him, always wanted him around.

Except right now, her hips keeping up with his desperately.

"What's that," his breath his labored but he smirks when she snarls at him.

"I hate you!"

"Keep telling yourself that, sugar tits."

And she growls and he laughs but then she smiles and he can't be happier, even with a broad as crazy as him.


	15. Dirty

_**This is the crackiest piece I've ever done but it was bath time and I sure as hell didn't want to get one and Joker shares my feelings.**_

_**Note: by the way guys, I love - looooove - love, love, love the reviews you have all given me. Seriously. You are all just so great!**_

* * *

He's never usually there when she gets back from work, he usually waits outside near the stoop. She's gotten complaints from neighbors, saying her 'Greaser' is bothering tennants, that they were ready to report the both of them.

_"Then do it," she quips, smacking Joker as he cackles ahead of her; they were going to a movie. "We aren't doing anything wrong."_

As she shrugs off her coat, he watches her. His brow is heavy, green hair tangled around his devious scars. The gestures are subtle, but there: a gentle cock of the head, a cluck of the tongue. She raises an eyebrow as she struts towards him, heels clicking until they hit the soft carpet of her living room floor. She cocks a hip and folds her arms but only for a moment. When she reaches for him, he brushes her hands away.

She pouts.

"Joker..."

"No..."

"You're dirty again."

No wonder it was so dark in the apartment, he probably had that red stuff on his suit again and his hands, possibly his hair judging by the dark splotches.

"No," he looks away.

"A bath is necessary."

"_Nooooooo_..." he whines, slouching in his chair, long legs flopping on either side of hers.

* * *

_**Told you, total crack xD tehehehehhe**_


	16. Red

_**I'm over excited, I believe the new villian on the show Gotham is the Joker. I know that smile and laugh anywhere. Plus they said "this next villian is no joke". I can only hope.**_

* * *

"J-Joker..."

"Hmm...shut up..."

"But I don' wanna do this."

It took him a moment to register her whimpers. He looked up, fingertips running over his scars. Red. Red, red, red. So nice. _Handsome._He cocked his head and she clammed up, watching him approach slowly, steps shuffling.

_Fear._

"Now sweetheart," she shivered as he gripped her right hand. "Love..."she shook as he dipped her fingers into the deep, round, tin in his other hand. "Paint. You like to paint, right?"

She did, she liked to paint him, his face. But not her own.

She opened her mouth to speak then saw the gleam of his pocket knife, nestled warmly between his palm and the bottom of the tin. She swallowed slowly before lifting her hand, massaging the thick, red paint into her lips, up her cheek bones. She hesitated then listened to him giggle and clap when she took the tin. Another layer to her lips, around her right eye. Her tiny naked frame quivered as her cold fingers swept down her throat, over her chest, the tops of her breasts.

Her movements were shaky, frenzied, and she jumped when he touched her shoulder. She dropped the tin, paint pooling over her feet, the tiles. Joker grinned, staring at her golden orbs that grazed over her own reflection.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin in the slope of her shoulder. Her hips ached with his weightbon finger shaped bruises, her perfectly combed hair ruffling with his breath.

"So pretty," he muttered.

They both wore the guise of a clown.


	17. Finally

_**Hey guuuuuys! I **__finally __**started the story for Her!**_

**_Title: _**_Hush (Maaaaay be changed)_

**_Summary:_**_ Vini was a tired lawyer, Bruce Wayne's sometimes lover...and now? The Joker's latest obsession...his newest toy, he says. And she can't find it in her to protest. _

**_And rhis little piece will be explored as a full chapter (chapter three) in the actual story._**

* * *

It wasn't too long after they first met.

She was dancing her frustration away with a night in an old but familiar bar: Fish Mooney's. Newly renovated for the younger crowd but still elegant (and whorish) enough for the more...'refined' folk.

She danced, laughed whenever she brushed another mans advances away. They were all so cute, smelt divine, said all the right things. But something said _'wait'._

She had reached the bar, bruahing back sweaty hair as she smiled at the bartender. "Rum and coke, sweetie."

He smiled back. "On the house."

Fool.

She took a long first sip, purring in satisfaction. One sip, she sighed. Two sips, she began to sway to the music. Three sips, he flashed her a grin in the mirror behind the bar.

He snared her hipa with one arm, she tensed, his free hand cupping the back of her right thigh. He didn't have that damn paint on his face but he still wore that suit, though it was alot cleaner.

"Hello, beautiful..." he snickered into her ear, hand creeping up her thigh, kneading the...slightly jiggling flesh.

Her legs trembled, his arm tightened around her waist. She arched back into him, breathless, right hand reaching up to grab the arm holding her up. She was breathless...she was grinng.

"Finally," she breathed.


End file.
